Rain
by Bellsie805
Summary: It had been a long day and there were not enough kindred souls in the world to help her through it.


Author's Note: Another piece of angst. 

There was the rain. The murderous, thundering rain that held her captive in this incredibly dreary mindset of hers. It had been a long day and there were not enough kindred souls in the world to help her through it.

It had been an hour since she had lain down to escape the painfulness of said long day and her life. She missed him. Her career was on hold and that meant that the bills were piling up faster and faster. She needed to get a job before she was on the street selling herself because she was "beautiful".

"Why him!" She asked as she propped herself up on her elbows and looked out the window.

She punched a pillow and then in her aggravation threw it against the wall, knowing that the soft pillow did nothing to destroy anything anymore than her intangible anger and frustration. She sacrificed herself because she thought it was "noble".

"Too many damn fairy tales," she murmured as she smoothed back her hair.

She thought if she quit, that he'd break down and confess to her how much he loved her. He'd be her knight-in-shining armor. He'd sweep her off her feet. He'd treat her like a princess. He'd be every other well-worn cliché that Walt Disney conceived. She would be "honey" and he would be "dear" and they would live happily ever after.

"I'm the poster child for why little girls shouldn't read fairy tales, aren't I?" She screamed to the rain.

She was and she knew it. She should go to an ad agency on Madison Avenue and sell herself as the voice of reason to those girls being imbued with the image of happiness. Oh, but life wasn't happy. It didn't work out that way. She had an English teacher once. Maybe it was in ninth grade? She didn't remember—her mind was so boggled right now. She knew the teacher had been a favorite of hers and she remembered something she had said that had stayed with her.

"Why are all the short stories so…_sad_?" A young Allison asked.

"But, isn't that reality, Ally? Is real life ever happy?" Her teacher asked her.

At that time, she knew it had to be a lie. Life couldn't be so terribly unhappy that every short story had to have a sad ending. Her life at the time was happy and enjoyable. But now, with years under her belt and self-sacrifice experienced, she understood what her teacher meant. Happy endings were rare.

And of course, for her happy ending, there had to be two people working for it. House was not conducive to any relationship other than the one with his iPod, GameBoy, Wilson, and the one he grudgingly had with everyone else around him. The last category he barely tolerated, and at this moment, she imagined that she had been lumped into it.

His eyes, though, the moment she left his apartment, held everything she ever needed to survive. He hadn't looked at her face for several moments, and she knew that he did that for his own protection. It was his reputation that was at stake, just as much as hers. If he looked at her, she might have gathered up part Disney-happy-ending and part feminist courage and kissed him. Of course, though, he'd protected himself and she had had to drop her hand and leave. She left more than just her job at his place.

She had left her dignity and her heart there as well. He probably kept her heart on his wall and threw darts at it when he felt compelled to and was stuck on a medical mystery.

"_Get over him!_" She shouted angrily over the rain.

The rain. Oh, the rain. Her mother had died on the slick roads of Pennsylvania in a rainstorm and forever after rain made her feel terrible. That's only part of the reason she curled up in bed as soon as the storm started; the other she was tired of thinking about. Blue eyes pierced her too far and deep.

"Allison? Are you okay? I heard you yelling, and it woke me up."

She considered her answer carefully.

"Not really. Can't sleep, ya know?" She softly explained.

"Yes, I do."

He padded to her bed and nudged her over. He crawled next to her and she snuggled into the crook of his neck.

"I love you," he told her.

"Mmm-hmm," was her reply as she feigned sleep.

She couldn't lie to the good Dr. James Wilson who loved comforting broken hearts. She didn't love him—she just needed a warm body at night. He had loved her from her first day at the hospital and jumped when she called oncology and invited him over to stay the night.

No, she couldn't lie. Her happiness did not lie with the man on her bed—

It lay with House.


End file.
